


Small Intimacies

by Elphen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale doesn't catch onto hints, Bathing/Washing, Blessing away pain, Caretaking, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley feels the cold, Flustered Crowley (Good Omens), Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gentle Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hair Washing, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Platonic Cuddling, Prompt Fill, Short & Sweet, Sweet Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sweet Crowley (Good Omens), Wearing the other's clothes, Wounds, indignant Aziraphale, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Based on a prompt list I found with the title "Non-sexual acts of intimacy", a collection of short stories of Aziraphale and Crowley being intimate with and caring for each other in various ways through their life together as only they can.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 55





	1. Wearing your clothes

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a sort of challenge to myself, to write something that can be read as either close friends or asexual partners but not more, then do it for all the prompts on the list and, as a further challenge to little verbose me, to keep each chapter at roughly a thousand words.  
> I hope you'll join me on this little challenge.

Aziraphale stretched, slowly and luxuriously. He’d been stuck, or rather had stuck himself, in this same position for, he checked his watch, roughly five hours, and his corporation wasn’t too appreciative, however used it was to it at this point.

Now he was done, though, he could compensate it and take his time about it, too, making the abused muscles unwind and sing.

Oh, that felt _good._

To gain pleasure from something as small but thoroughly…bodily as that was not exactly a new thing for him but nevertheless, the true appreciation of it he had got from Crowley.

Speaking of his demon, where was he?

Checking his watch again and deciding that it was time for some food, whether you called it late lunch or early dinner, and that he would treat Crowley to something extra good, he stretched again, just as slowly, and started to roll down his sleeves.

He’d rolled them up so that he could work more easily, without the risk of stains. For the same reason, he’d taken off his coat.

His coat…which wasn’t there. It was supposed to be there, hung carefully over the back of the nearest unoccupied chair. He knew he’d hung it there before he’d started work. Knew it with absolute certainty, so where was it?

It hadn’t fallen off the back of the chair, either, and he knew he’d worn it before he’d sat down.

So where was it?

And where was Crowley? He wasn’t in any of his usual hiding places in the shop, and Aziraphale didn’t think he’d gone out, though he couldn’t be sure.

Find Crowley first then he could find his coat.

No need to call for him, though. Not yet.

The angel went upstairs to his storeroom turned bedroom, it becoming the latter through Crowley’s suggestion more than anything. His asking to have something other than the sofa to snooze on while he was here.

Peeking in, he saw no one there, either. Or at least, he saw nobody on the bed. Then, when he shifted his gaze, he spotted…someone.

His very first thought was to get annoyed that a customer not only had wandered into somewhere they shouldn’t be, but that they had the audacity to stay in here, casual as anything. In front of a mirror, too.

Then, as his brain started to catch up with him, he realised there was something very familiar about the shape of the person. The hair, too.

Something seemed off about the picture, though, and not because of the mirror, to the point that even with those clear markers, it took him a long moment to realise that it wasn’t an intruder or even a stranger at all.

It was Crowley. Wearing his coat.

“Crowley?” he asked quietly as he came further into the room.

There were more ‘off’ things, but it wasn’t until he repeated the name and the demon turned to face him that it clicked.

Crowley was wearing his coat, yes, but that wasn’t all. He wasn’t wearing any of his own clothes.

Instead, it looked as if he’d raided the fancy dress box. Only, the colours were all…

“Are you…are those my clothes?” Aziraphale asked, not realising he’d spoken out loud until the guilty look on the ginger’s face registered.

“I, ehm, that is – “Crowley spluttered but didn’t actually answer.

Not that he needed to. There was nobody else’s it could be. Aziraphale remembered those clothes. He’d put them away when they’d become unfashionable enough to be a hindrance, or perhaps a bit later, but the point was that he’d kept them.

How and why they had ended up in an odd amalgamation on the demon were questions he couldn’t answer.

Neither, it seemed, could Crowley. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to, which was a distinct possibility, too.

Nevertheless, Aziraphale had to ask, “But why, my dear?”

The words ‘you always poke fun at my clothes’ hung between them, unsaid but felt.

“I just, I mean – “the demon tried, clearly gearing up for getting defensive. Then, as Aziraphale came closer, something must’ve deflated because Crowley sagged slightly.

“I just always wondered,” he confessed, quietly. Reluctantly, it seemed, but he did say it.

“But you wore the same clothes as I did at the time. Well, more or less…those as well, at any rate. They can hardly have been a novelty for you.”

He was right up close to the other and reached out a hand to touch the fabric of the shirt. The shirt was about all he would touch, given how it hung on the thin frame.

It gave him a pang of self-consciousness which he brushed aside. Now wasn’t the time for feeling bad about his weight.

“They can hardly be comfortable for you, either, when they’re that much too large for you.”

Crowley looked away, his head hanging a little. His embarrassment radiated off him.

He mumbled something that took the blond a moment to decipher. “They are.”

“Are what?”

“Comfortable,” Crowley said and now there was some defensiveness to his words. “They’re very comfortable. As comfortable as I thought they would be. They’re _warm,_ too, and soft, and I – “

He stopped, colour rising in his cheeks as he realised just what he’d said and possibly what he’d been about to say.

Oh.

“Oh, my dear, you should’ve just _said,”_ Aziraphale said softly. He opened his arms and Crowley went into them willingly.

“If that’s the case, feel free to use them whenever you need,” the angel murmured. The demon tightened his grip and didn’t say anything.

“I would like my coat back, though,” Aziraphale said after a moment. “I do rather need it for when we go out and such things. I was planning to take you out tonight. Why take that, by the way? Surely, there were other coats.”

Crowley lifted his head to regard the other. “Only ones I could find had holes in them. Couldn’t wear those, could I?”

Aziraphale blinked, rapidly. “They had _what_?”


	2. Washing your hair for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's had enough; if Aziraphale isn't going to take care of his hair, then he'll have to do it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise once a week, didn't I? Not that it matters but...trying to keep promises and all that stuff. I altered the chapter name a bit because 'washing my hair' has some implications I didn't intend :)

“Honestly, how you can have the audacity to say ‘I have standards’ when you leave your hair in that state is beyond me. Rotten little liar, you are.”

“I am most certainly not!” Aziraphale protested.

As he was in a bathrobe, one that was thick, soft, quilted in the collar because of course it was, in the warmest cream you ever saw, and not much else, with a surprisingly rumpled look to him, his protest was wobbly at best.

Crowley merely gave him a raised eyebrow, and a mild one at that, as though he couldn’t be bothered with more when Aziraphale insisted on being that stupid.

“Well, I – “

“Standards up for debate, then, are they? Or just only applicable when it suits the situation? Clothes need to be of a certain quality – “Yellow eyes drifted down over the bathrobe in quite the pointed way, which did _not_ make Aziraphale fidget, even a little bit – “but never mind about the state of your wings? Oh, we _need_ to have a manicure, and a pedicure, come to that, but can we be bothered to shake off the cobwebs, dust and other debris that goes into our hair on a daily basis? Most certainly _not.”_

The last words were definitely meant to mimic, not to mention mock, the angel’s earlier words. That in itself wasn’t necessarily a problem, as it was no worse than his usual commentary.

His issue was more that the demon managed to hit the nail square on the head and dive down into the nub and crux of it.

Of course, that didn’t mean Aziraphale was going to just admit to it.

“I was doing a thorough cleaning of the bookshop,” he said, drawing himself up a little, as though that would somehow help. “There is bound to be a lot of things, including dust and cobwebs, that come a bit loose and get stuck in a situation like that.”

“And how long ago was that ‘thorough cleaning’, may I ask?”

“It was only – “Aziraphale began, then stopped. He couldn’t remember exactly. Had it been yesterday? The day before? Possibly the week before? No, it sadly wasn’t clear at all.

What he ought to have done, then, was to quickly come up with something to maintain the lie, even if Crowley wouldn’t quite believe him. As it turned out, he hesitated for a bit too long to make that possible.

“It wasn’t too long ago,” was what he ended up saying, defensively yet probably more truthfully. Actually, he in fact mumbled it.

The eyebrow only rose higher at that. Then Crowley shook his head.

“Get in already,” he said, with a nod towards the bathtub, which was full of warm water and topped with bubbles like some liquid cake.

“Really, my dear, there is no need. I am perfectly capable of – “

“Of leaving it another week or two, or three, because you get distracted by something. No thank you.”

“It should please you, then, given your little jabs at my nails and such, that I – “

“You drop it onto my head.”

The statement shut whatever Aziraphale had been about to say off rather well.

“Pardon?” he said. Then it clicked. “Oh. When…”

The demon fidgeted slightly. “Yeah. Then.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale repeated. “I do apologise, I didn’t realise.”

Crowley’s expression said, ‘it’s fine, so long as you don’t do it again’. What he said out loud was, “In. Now.”

The angel hurried to comply, though without actually hurrying. He went to the bathtub and unrobed while Crowley, already divested of his jacket, rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. The watch he kept on. It’d been designed for deep sea-diving, it should be able to handle a bit of soapy water.

Which, because Crowley expected it to, it of course did.

Aziraphale was already in the tub by the time the demon was done.

“Right, then. Let’s get this sorted, shall we? Properly, for once.”

The blond looked somewhat perturbed. “Really, dear boy, there is no need – “

Once again, Crowley cut him off, though this time, he did it by scooping up a big hand bowl of water and dumping it over the angel’s head. The curls, already more matted than Aziraphale would admit to, fought and resisted but caved when another splosh of water descended from above, curtesy of bony hands.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale spluttered, somewhat indignantly, small rivulets of water running down his face. Nevertheless, he managed to glare lightly at the other.

However, the demon didn’t seem particularly bothered by the glare. Instead, apparently having determined that the hair was wet enough for purpose, he merely turned to grab something off a shelf, tip it into his hand, spread it onto both and then…

The glare slipped away into a soft, surprised expression and then one of slowly growing bliss.

“Oh…oh, that feels _nice_.”

“Told you,” the demon said, and you could _hear_ the smirk. If you could see it, Aziraphale didn’t know, as his eyes had slipped closed. “Yeah, you can miracle it away but that’s never going to get it as thoroughly, and it definitely won’t feel even half as good as this.”

“I’m rather inclined to believe your hands have a lot of the blame there,” the angel said as he simultaneously sagged into the tub and pushed up into said hands. “Oh, that’s…that’s…”

“Tempter that I am?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Definitely. Oh, please don’t stop.”

“Can’t lather forever. Got to get it out.”

“Not more water dumping.”

“Of course not.”

In fact, Crowley used the showerhead while continuing the massage with one hand. By the time he was done, Aziraphale was a puddle.

“That was…heavenly, Crowley, thank you.”

“No problem.” The demon found a towel but paused before using it.

“We agreed? You come up here, once a week or at least once a fortnight, and you get your hair washed.”

Aziraphale smiled up at Crowley. “On one condition.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“That I get to reciprocate.”

“…Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is a challenge to me to try and learn to tell a story within only a thousand words as much as anything else, so...apologies if that makes the stories suffer. I liked writing the hair washing, though :)


	3. Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to make Aziraphale put some heat on in the bookshop, but the angel isn't receptive. So what is a demon to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the most wonderful little puffs of calm and joy to write for me during the week, which is something I need, I find. Thank you to the kind people reading and especially the ones leaving feedback ❤️

“All I’m saying is, it’s bloody cold in here,” Crowley said. He was slung across an antique chair that definitely wasn’t designed for the purpose he was currently putting it to. To be honest, it hadn’t been designed for being used as another shelf for books that together weighed more than it did, either, but at least it had stood on all four legs then. All the time.

Right now, it was balancing on two at most as Crowley leaned against it, the top of the back just about touching the edge of Aziraphale’s desk.

One might imagine his legs on either side, feet on the floor to help him keep his balance, at least. But while one foot marginally touched the floor, the other leg was bent at the knee and was swinging lightly back and forth when it wasn’t doing circles or figures of eight in the air. His arms were crossed and resting on the desk, keeping him nominally in place.

“You might put a bit more on than a shirt and a jacket, then,” Aziraphale said with a slight sniff. He was at his desk and was working. Ostensibly, anyway. At least he had been, until Crowley had shown up with a bottle in hand. Now, he was mainly sipping wine, talking, or right now arguing, with an equally tipsy demon and making some marks on the paper that might’ve been words. Not English, certainly, but words of some kind.

“We’re inside, Aziraphale, it shouldn’t be necessary to wear several layers to stay warm. This is the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth. Hell, even then there was such a things as stoves and fireplaces.”

“I am not putting in a stove in here, much less a fireplace, and that’s an end of it.”

“It’s damper here than it was in the sodding middle ages, you realise that?” Crowley tried, then took a sullen sip of his drink. It really was damp, too, even more so than normal and it was making his bones creak a little. Perhaps he was getting sensitive in his old age. “Cannot be good for your books.”

“They’ve survived so far,” the angel rebuffed, calm as anything. “They will survive a bit of damp far better than they will the drying out of a constant fire.”

The implication therein was rather…shouty for all its silence and Crowley made a face. It wasn’t a memory he wanted to relive at all.

“Fine,” he grumbled then got up from the chair in one smooth motion that really ought to have sent him, or at least the chair, tumbling. As it was, he stood himself upright without any issue, despite the wine. “Have it your way, then.”

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale called after him as he started to walk away then disappeared around a corner.

Crowley didn’t answer and Aziraphale didn’t go after him, which was just as well, really.

He didn’t want to continue arguing but that didn’t mean he had to accept his defeat, either.

There were other ways.

About an hour later, Aziraphale had had enough.

Ever since Crowley had walked away without another word, he’d felt an urge to go after him. That would be pointless if he’d gone out, of course, as there was then no knowing where he’d have gone. But though the doorbell wasn’t any reliable indicator of whether he’d gone or not – he sometimes silenced it just for the fun – the angel had the distinct sensation he was still in the shop.

So, abandoning the work he’d attempted to continue, he began to search the bookshop. He searched in what seemed like every corner with no luck.

Eventually, he made it to the little backroom, which wasn’t quite ‘little’ on the inside. If only the angel were a bit more up on his genre fiction…

Only, it didn’t look like his backroom. Instead, it looked like a monster in a too-small cage.

He blinked, and it became a couple of blankets and a jacket that’d been stretched out over some ladders.

A light emanated from inside and he panicked.

“Oi!” Crowley protested when the angel burst in. Rather, he burst through, the blankets falling down around him.

“Crowley, the flame – “Aziraphale began, then stopped.

There was no flame. The light came from a small lamp resembling a candle and Crowley was sitting by it, now draped in blanket.

“You do realise that will not bring heat?” Aziraphale asked, or lack of anything better to say.

“It does.” He waved his fingers in indication. “Or it did, anyway, when the blankets were up. Go away and, and work. Or whatever.”

“Crowley, you’re still drunk.”

“Am not. Just a bit tipsy. And now I’m getting cold again.”

“You were making a, a – a what, exactly?”

“A blanket fort.”

Aziraphale was no expert but he thought that for a ‘fort’, it was a bit too…minimal, to say the least “Out of two blankets and a jacket?”

“‘s all I had, wasn’t it? Besides, it was working.”

“Crowley…”

“Go away, angel.” Crowley pulled the blanket close and didn’t look at the other.

Aziraphale did.

But only for the time it took to find a few items to bring back.

The demon had just about stopped sulking enough to consider whether he should put the blankets back up or just wrap himself in both, when he was startled out of his thoughts by what was dumped in his lap.

“Sorry. They slipped.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. Or rather, the blanket-and-pillow monster that had to be him.

“What the –?”

“Thought you might need a bit extra…material for your fort.” A blond head peeked out on the side. “And perhaps some help?”

He smiled at that, apologetically. It was a large apology.

Crowley accepted it with a grin.

In the end, their blanket fort was more of a Versailles, but neither would complain. Not when there were wine and talking, not to mention cuddling up against the side of the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt said 'cuddling in a blanket fort' and it turned into a lot of talking again. Go figure. I hoped it worked even remotely but I do enjoy writing them, regardless.


	4. I'll patch you up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale arrives at Crowley's flat, rather worried. The demon has called him here and sounded as he was in a state, so the angel came prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rubbish summary and silly title? Back on form, then. Thank you to all who loved the blanket fort last time ❤️ A slight bit of hurt in this, it should be mild but just, so you know

Aziraphale knocked on the front door then realised how silly it was. It wasn’t as though Crowley was in any position to open it, and the demon would know whether the angel was there or not regardless. He could smell him, or sense him, or whatever he called it, after all.

That said, Aziraphale wasn’t sure the other was in a state to notice much of anything, and that included this.

He’d rather knock and then be called silly for it later by his demon than facing…this.

To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t quite sure what ‘this’ entailed, either. Crowley hadn’t been all too specific when he’d called. Or really that coherent, either.

Initially, Aziraphale had thought he was drunk and had thought to dismiss it. It’d only happened once, or perhaps twice, before, and both times had been rather different from this but then, they’d been rather different from each other, as well, so that wasn’t saying much.

But despite the similarities, there had been a tightness in Crowley’s voice that he never got while drunk. The blond should know. He’d heard just about every nuance of drunk in that voice over the years.

One might even call him a connoisseur, and there was none of them that had tightness in them. Not that physical type, at any rate. The emotional, yes, most certainly, but the physical? No, never.

It hadn’t helped that the ginger hadn’t been forthcoming with information. All he’d got was that he needed the angel to come to his flat as soon as he could. With that, he’d hung up.

Of course, Aziraphale had then packed everything he thought he might need, even though he had no idea what he’d face once he got there.

He’d moved from Soho to Mayfair at a speed that defied his figure.

Part of him wished he still had his sword in case some…former colleagues had decided to show up. The rest of him realised that apart from it no longer being his, it’d potentially escalate the situation further than either of them were ready for, and thereby hurt Crowley more.

If only he had the demon’s sense of smell.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open, ready to face whatever might be on the other side.

That he was faced with nothing dangerous at all was an anti-climax, to be sure, but one he barely registered in the search for Crowley.

Though the demon might not be able to hear him, or answer, he nevertheless called his name as he looked about the flat. There was no sign of him, even in the bedroom.

Just as he was beginning to get really worried, he heard Crowley’s voice from the bathroom.

Sagging a little with relief, he went in there. Only to stop and stare at the large…he didn’t know whether to call it a burn or a series of wound on the demon’s lightly freckled back. Possibly both.

“Good Lord, my dear, what happened?”

“Don’t bloody well bring Her into it,” Crowley growled, looking over his shoulder at his friend where he sat on the toilet lid, but it lacked any bite, possibly because he grimaced with pain at the same time.

“Nevertheless, what happened? Did – did anyone from –?”

“No, didn’t get any visitors. From either side.” He grimaced again. “Could you –? I can’t reach it.”

“Why haven’t you made it go away?” the blond asked even as he came closer and opened his bag. Oh, it was just as well that he’d brought just about everything he had, and a few more things besides.

“Tried already, haven’t I? It ain’t working. Got some – some kind of blessing on them.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in concern, but he didn’t say anything until he had everything laid out on the counter. Only then did he turn back, smiling reassuringly.

“Could you sit up properly? I need to be able to see the extent of it.”

“Can’t you just miracle it away?” The words could have been mocking but instead, they were only imploring. He sat up straight, too.

He was hurting, badly, and Aziraphale was the only one who could help him. The angel’s heart did something funny in his chest.

Aziraphale leaned close to examine the wounds. Each had something small and glinting in them. Something which…oh. “And do more damage to you? I think not.”

“Not the first time – “

“They all have the same blessing on them, though I don’t recognise it. I would need to heal them all individually, fighting with your body all the way. Best to get the things out first and then I can heal the whole area as one.”

He put a hand carefully on the other shoulder and Crowley’s hand spider-crabbed to reach it, gripping it firmly once he did.

Aziraphale squeezed it. Then he set to work.

“These aren’t angel blessings,” he commented as he started. Or Crowley would’ve been discorporated, at least. “Nor from a church I recognise. Yet, they’re clearly working to some extent.” A bit of understatement never hurt.

It was a bit before Crowley answered, the pain in his voice lessened slightly, to Aziraphale’s relief.

“Old crazy lady, chucked a handful of crystals at me.”

“Chucked? Seems a bit – “Then he got one out and saw it’d been sharpened all the way around. Ah.

“With a slingshot. Thought those were for kids in books.”

“Kids do grow up. Sit still, dear, it goes much faster when you do.”

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind so he could work methodically and carefully, bringing as little pain as possible to his friend, who still hissed. Their hands stayed linked throughout.

Once they were all out, Aziraphale murmured something and moved his hand. Crowley bellowed and jerked hard but once it was over, there was not a trace.

The demon turned around, somehow keeping their hands linked and wrapped himself around the angel.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Aziraphale smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are times writing these that I itch to expand on the stories but that's not the point of this and you're probably all better off this way ;)  
> I do love writing Aziraphale caring like this and Crowley not being afraid to show his own caring


	5. Reading along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't read. Aziraphale knows that so he thinks of reading as a quiet me-time that his demon won't join in on. Only...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post this. It's been something of a week.

Crowley didn’t read. That was a well-established fact. Not beyond what he had to, at any rate, and certainly not for pleasure.

Even though he had possibly the greatest bookworm in the history of the world, if nothing else then due to the sheer number of years he’d been collecting, and reading, for a friend, he had yet to pick up a book of his own volition. At least as far as Aziraphale had seen.

Not that he expressed an outright disdain for them or anything. They just didn’t seem to be for him and though the angel, like so many other booklovers, had tried to get Crowley interested enough to pick up a book, he had yet to manage it.

Oh, it wasn’t as though he was sniffy about books or was annoyed when Aziraphale started talking about a particular one he’d just read, how fascinating the similarities and differences between different books were or other such bookworm nerdery.

That his face didn’t change much didn’t mean he wasn’t listening or didn’t care. His default expression, assisted by the sunglasses, wasn’t so much ‘Resting Bitch’ as it was ‘Resting Rickman’, at least according to the demon himself. Aziraphale didn’t know the meaning of either.

At this point in time, however, Aziraphale knew his face well enough to see the nuances beneath and around that default description and could, usually, tell when Crowley was genuinely bored or not listening.

They might even get into discussions about character motivations or historical context which Crowley entered into with both enthusiasm and a large pool of knowledge and savvy, too, which made the discussions a joy, even more so than any conversation with his friend was.

He just. Didn’t read books.

At some point, Aziraphale came to accept that, even though he was still slightly saddened by it. It was just that he thought Crowley would get so much enjoyment out of them, that was all. But each to their own.

He certainly wouldn’t like to have someone continue to push exercise on him constantly.

That didn’t mean the angel was going to stop reading, of course, and since Crowley had, after the whole Armageddon debacle, practically colonised the bookshop, he wouldn’t refrain from reading merely because he wasn’t alone.

Customers were thankfully relatively rare these days. Perhaps it was the presence of Crowley, maybe it was something else, he didn’t know. In any case, he was rather grateful. It meant he could read in peace.

Today, he’d settled down in one of his more comfortable chairs, one high-backed enough to rest his head on, with a new book, which was a bit different to his usual, but it was quite surprisingly good, and he was getting rather absorbed.

So absorbed, in fact, that he didn’t notice the shadow behind him hadn’t moved or shifted in some time. That it, in fact, was a shadow with warm corporeality.

He was more than halfway through the book, when he turned a page and nearly jumped out of corporation at the sound of a voice close to his ear. Well, not close as in 'right by his ear', but still, it was only about a foot away and he hadn’t expected anyone to be near at all.

“Turn back. I wasn’t done reading that page yet.”

Aziraphale’s neck cracked as his head whipped around to face as best as he could what was indeed Crowley. The voice had been his – and possibly the reason the angel hadn’t reacted to the presence for so long was precisely because it was his friend – but even so, he was rather relieved to see it was him.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t rather startled, too.

Of all the things he might have expected to hear from Crowley, that was…well, it was at least up near the top of what he wouldn’t have expected.

“Excuse me?”

“I think you heard, angel,” Crowley said, entirely unperturbed. “I missed that whole last paragraph so turn back the page.”

A pause. “Please.”

Aziraphale instead turned his body more fully to face the demon draped across the back of the chair. “No, apologies, but I need to be certain here. Are you saying that you’ve – “his mind stumbled somewhat over the idea – “you’ve been reading this?”

He held up the book, now closed.

Crowley nodded, still not bothered. “Not from the start. Didn’t notice you’d started until you were a few chapters in, but…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“…But why?” The words, ‘but you don’t read’ pressed against his lips but he fought them back. They weren’t helpful and judgmental, to boot.

The ginger shrugged again. “Wanted to know what all the fuss was about, I suppose. Saw you’d settled in with one and the cover looked interesting, what I could see of it, anyway.”

“Is that…something you do often?”

“First time, though I’ve thought about it a few times.” Crowley smiled. “Glad I did, too, even if you read erratically.”

“Erratically?” Aziraphale echoed, his indignation pushing other things aside for the moment. “I do not.”

“You do. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep up with, and sometimes you stay on the same page for twice the length you otherwise need.”

“I – well...!” The angel huffed, feeling defensive. “Never had to – you’re not obligated to – “

“I know. Just an observation, angel, relax. Now, are you going to open the book, or do I need to take it?”

“You were…really reading along?”

“I said. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Because you normally adamantly avoid it!” The words were out before Aziraphale could stop them and he grimaced.

Crowley didn’t seem upset, however. Instead, he paused, looking thoughtful.

“Point,” he conceded. Then he smiled again, raising an eyebrow. “Suppose I’ve fallen into good ways.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale smiled in turn. Oh, this could be so lovely! “Well, then, why don’t we find somewhere we can both sit down properly? Then you can turn the pages whenever you’re ready.”

The gratefulness was etched onto Crowley’s face.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this worked better than I thought it did after writing and apologies for the attempts at humour.  
> I'd love to see this illustrated, though...maybe I'll pluck up the courage to try.

**Author's Note:**

> It seemed fitting to start this off on Valentine's in particular, given...well, you can figue it out. I hope to put out a chapter each week until I run out of prompts but we'll see.  
> I might have been overly cautious on the rating but let's just be safe, eh? Tags are for the whole series, btw, and will get added to.  
> You can read it either as friendship or asexual partners, I believe. That was the intention, at least.
> 
> Feedback is loved and cherished as always but keep the criticism constructive, please.


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